This was one of the moments when he felt more like running away than fighting, but Jet took good care that he should not have an opportunity.
The two crept to the very edge of the thicket, where it would be possible to see any one who came up from the lake, and they had hardly concealed themselves before the man appeared.
He was walking slowly, gazing around scrutinizingly, as if expecting to find enemies, and carried a revolver in his hand.
Jet hoped sincerely that he would pass the cedars without devoting to them any especial attention, but in this he was disappointed.
Sam had already noted the place, and came straight on as if determined to examine every inch of the ground.
There was no time for hesitation.
Already he was within a dozen yards of where the boys were crouching, and in a moment more would be upon them.
Jet suddenly pushed the muzzle of his gun out from among the branches, and cried:
"Put up your hands, or I'll fire."
Unfortunately Sam was not taken by surprise as the others had been; his revolver was ready for use, and it seemed as if the words had hardly been uttered when he fired three times in rapid succession.